


Things You Thought You'd Never Do

by Makkoska



Series: Small Things [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hokage, Hokage's office, M/M, Rough Sex, S rank mission, Series, Tobirama..., Yaoi, beware of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Failure – that’s something Madara just can’t handle, no matter why and how it happens. Hashirama helps him to cope with it. HashiMada, yaoi. Set in the same universe as It’s the Small Things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Thought You'd Never Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third instalment in the “Small Things” series. On the timeline this happens sooner than Everyday Things (refers to something Tobirama said there), but probably should be read as the third story to make some sense. 
> 
> This was supposed to be just smut - if it got more than that, it’s because Madara was being difficult (as always), but yes, there’s a rather explicit sex scene in here. By public demand (two people asked) and because I wanted to write it anyway.
> 
> Warnings: for rough sex, a bit of a fluff and Tobirama

 

The mission was considered a big success. They’d eliminated the whole group of hostile ninjas who were threatening the peace of Land of Fire, got back the goods and scrolls they’d stolen from the Daimyo and from Konoha shinobi they’d murdered, and their own casualties were minimal - only one person.  Everyone agreed that they’d done splendidly. Everyone was happy with the outcome.

 

Or almost everyone. Madara loathed if someone under his charge died. The damned fool - it had been the young Inuzuka, who he’d been rather reluctant to take with him to begin with - he wasn’t fond of dogs at all and wasn’t convinced that relying so much on a dumb animal could made anyone a strong warrior. The idiot had left the formation to save the mutt when it’d gotten stuck in a fight - Madara couldn’t get back to them on time and neither the man nor the beast survived.

 

And now he had to stand in the Hokage’s office, _giving a report_ of all things, while everyone acted elated over their success. As if no one died. Yes, shinobi fell all the time in battle, but how dare they do so when he was responsible for them?! It made him feel inadequate, as if he was too weak, too powerless to prevent it - as he had been all those times before...

 

He wanted to go home, make it obvious for the kids that he was in a horrible mood and they should walk on their tiptoes around him, lie down and pull the covers over his head. Aina would make him some tea and put it down before the door of the room, whispering that it was for making him feel better. Then when Hashirama arrived home, he’d make him work hard before he let himself be comforted. Probably make him feel just as miserable as Madara felt, just because it fitted his low spirit and he could do it.

 

But no, he had to keep himself together, pretend everything was alright for the sake of the bunch of idiots standing around him. He could hear his own voice as he droned on the details, cold and emotionless, and he knew his mask was also in place, his expression not giving anything away. So this way it was only his lover who could have any indication what was going on inside him. He was wearing his own mask, his calm-and-collected-leader-of-the-village face, but his eyes searched Madara’s, trying to convey without words that he knew how he felt and he sympathised.

 

The Uchiha decided to ignore that and pretend he didn’t notice. It fitted his piss-poor mood better.

 

Slowly, terribly slowly, the charade was coming to an end. The surviving members of his team went on their business or to rest, along with other irritating people present. Last was Tobirama to go, just as usual, but today he wasn’t up to a glaring contest, so he didn’t even glance at his direction.

 

Once they were left alone Hashirama stood up from behind his desk and came over to him. Madara folded his arms in front of his chest quickly, so instead of embracing him, what he probably wanted, he just put a hand on his shoulder. He was wearing the ridiculous, long white cloak he always did when he wanted to look official. At least that stupid hat was not on his obtuse head, but sitting on his desk. The Uchiha never made it a secret what he thought about it, so probably he took it off for his sake. Still these garbs infuriated him, as if they separated the man who was his lover from the man who was the leader of Konoha.

 

“Are you alright?” Oh, of all the stupid things to ask... Madara felt his anger raising another notch.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?!” he snapped. “We were successful, weren’t we? Or was something not clear in my report, _Hokage-sama?_ ”

 

“Madara, I know it’s never easy to lose one of your men,” Hashirama’s voice was placating, not rising to the bait. The Uchiha gladly focused all his negative feelings to his sudden urge to make him lose his calm.

 

“Do you think so? Well, I’ve never cared about that flea-bitten mongrel... or his dog.” A twitch of eyebrows, nothing more, showing that Hashirama was annoyed by this comment but he also knew Madara was provoking him on purpose.

 

“I want to compose a message to his family - you could accompany me, I want to deliver the news personally.”

 

“Why an earth should I do that? Shinobi die in battle, that’s how it should be, that’s how it’s always been, so the mutt’s family had to be aware of the risk as well. Or do you want me to rub it in for them, the senseless, stupid way the kid was finished off?”

 

“Madara...,” there was anger in his lover’s voice now, filling him with some twisted satisfaction. It was so much easier to talk like this, to disregard his emotions. Hashirama could see through him, but he’d also kept some of his childish naïveté, and that made it wickedly entertaining to scandalize him with such talk. Provoking him to his snapping point would always be his favourite method of trying to get rid of sorrow, depression and fury. No, it wasn’t nice or fair, but he didn’t give a fuck about it right then.

 

“They can be glad I went back for him,” he pressed on, “otherwise not much would have been left of his corpse, nothing recognisable to bury,” he kept his sneer in place, trying hard not to think about how the boy’s body was quite damaged already by the time he noticed he was missing and rushed back to try to rescue him - bloody bastards poured all their fury onto him, the Inuzuka being the only one they could catch. Madara revenged him - but that wouldn’t bring the dead back, wouldn’t be much comfort for those who’d loved him.

 

“I think they’d want to talk to you, and thank you, for bringing him home.”

 

“Rather blame me for failing him! But I won’t play that game - all have to be aware of the risk...”

 

“I’m sure no one would want to blame you...”

 

“You know nothing of how people think, do you...?”

 

“It’s only you, who blame yourself.”

 

Madara took a deep breath, feeling he might just get out of control hearing his lover state that so matter of factly. Even if he was right, or especially because of it, how dare he say something like that? Forget self-control, he decided a minute later and let his anger wash over him.

 

“You bastard,” he hissed, unfolding his arms and showing Hashirama hard on the chest. He didn’t even take half a step back, just stood there with unwavering calmness. “How dare you assume to know how I feel? I don’t care for this bloody village or its moronic inhabitants, I’ve told you long ago. In fact, I might just...”

 

“That’s enough,” the taller man touched his face gently, but he knocked his hand away, furious, and at the same time relieved that he was interrupted before he’d said something he’d have regretted later. “Why don’t you go home to rest and I’ll...”

 

“Oh, fuck you! I don’t need you to pamper me! If you want to do something useful, make sure the idiots you send on a mission are capable of defending themselves! Or rather, not group them up with me - they can die in any brainless way they want for all that I care, if they don’t do it in front of me! I’d rather work alone.”

 

“That’s not how we set up the system, you know it,” his lover quite obviously repressed a sigh, “I thought we agreed...”

 

“You and your brother set up that system!” Madara growled. “I don’t remember you asking me if I agreed, still now you expect me to honour your rules?”

 

“Must you do this?” Hashirama’s brows knitted together as he lost his patient tone, and at the back of his mind the Uchiha felt satisfaction at being able to anger him finally. “You can’t say that I’m not interested in your points, but I’m also your superior in means of...”

 

“You’re bloody well not my superior in anything!” He grabbed the loose white linen of the Senju’s garments. Dark eyes narrowed at him in annoyance - anyone else would have been intimidated by the threat in his gesture, but Hashirama had never been afraid of him. Madara snorted in frustration and let him go, striding to stand in front of the window and looked out at the late afternoon gloom above the village.

 

“Still, we can’t go and bend all the rules, just because you’re my...”

 

Madara spun around at that, picked up the first item by his hand, which happened to be a tightly rolled scroll and threw it at his lover’s thick head. Hashirama of course caught it easily, which it just fuelled him to continue with any object on the desk that weighted enough. In a blink of an eye Hashirama was in front of him, but he used it to his advantage and hit him in the face with his damned Hokage hat. He’d always hated the bloody piece of clothing.

 

The taller man grabbed his wrists, trying to hold him down, but he was also trying not to cause him any pain, so he could easily free himself of the non-too firm hold. He knew he was being childish, but right then he didn’t care at all. He just wanted to forget of that terrible feeling of inadequateness that gnawed him since the young Inuzuka’s death, and if he could do it with tearing up old wounds, such as forever sore spots regarding the leadership of the village or Hashirama listening to his brother instead of him in matters of importance…for the oblivion of fury, he was willing to sink that low. Or even lower if that was what it took- after all, if he made Hashirama angry or ashamed, he wouldn’t be the only one feeling miserable. And if he could improve his mood by engaging into a wrestling match, so be it.

 

He slapped the hat against the taller man’s face again, successfully bending it and leaving an angry red mark on the other’s tanned cheeks. Hashirama grabbed his arms more firmly this time and forced him backwards. Madara’s thighs hit the edge of the desk, so he used it as support to raise his legs and kick out. He felt the air leave Hashirama’s lungs as his soles connected with his chest, but he didn’t back off.

 

“Have you gone completely mad,” he growled, eyes flashing dangerously, and that look sent a not unpleasant shiver down the Uchiha’s spine. He must have wavered for a heartbeat, as he found himself lying on his back on the top of the desk, with the Senju pinning down his wrists next to his head. The edge of the furniture was cutting into his lower back and Hashirama pulled his hair with his forearms as he had to press down with his full weight to keep Madara immobile, but despite the discomfort, it was still an undeniably arousing position. There was just something about his lover when he showed his might. God of a shinobi, they had called him, and as much as Madara always made a point to ridicule him for that name, it wasn’t a baseless title.

 

Not that he was about to admit it, ever. Hashirama knew too well how to pull his strings already, it would just go to his head. So he fought, even if it was a mock struggling compared to a real clash. As he couldn’t free his hands just by pure physical force - but didn’t want to use any technique-  he wove his legs around the other’s slender waists and pulled him close with a violent motion to sink his teeth into his neck, biting down so hard as if he wanted to tear out his throat.

 

Hashirama cried out, his fingers tightening on his locks painfully, and his hips bucked up, making it obvious that the Uchiha wasn’t the only one aroused by their struggle.  Madara eased the pressure of his teeth a bit but continued to suck on the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a bruise as the taller man moved above him, rubbing his hardening prick against his thighs and arse through layers and layers of annoying clothes. In the back of his mind he couldn’t believe they were doing this, _in the Hokage’s office - on the damned desk of all places -_ but all the anger, the pent up frustration of the fight not long ago, the pain of losing someone under his charge and the argument just now seemed to peek suddenly and burst out in the form of sexual excitement. It was certainly a way more pleasant feeling than fury and self-accusation, even if they shouldn’t... but as awkward as he felt many times still when they were making love, right now he just couldn’t care.

 

“Fuck me,” he muttered against the abused spot on Hashirama’s neck. His lover stopped his movements and looked up as if he just realized where they were, so he bit down again, this time just below his chin and the predictable idiot downright melted on top of him. The next instant he kissed Madara deeply, his fingers already fumbling with the clasps on his armour. Now that he could move his arms again, Madara realized he was still clutching the battered hat, so he put it down on his lover’s head. Not that it suited him, but he might as well wear it if they were about to do it in his office. Hashirama was wise enough not to comment, though he raised an amused eyebrow.

 

“Hurry up,” he urged him, sitting up and to untie his pants.

 

“Don’t order the Hokage around.”

 

“Oh, shut up and...” he was picked up suddenly and turned around. With his armour off, Hashirama didn’t bother with his shirt but went for his trousers straight- that fitted Madara, so he let them be dragged down, even raised his backside to make it easier. Quick, rough sex, that was what he wanted, it seemed just the perfect way to make him forget everything. Seemed like a better option than petty arguing, seemed even more satisfying than a fight. He moaned when he felt the other’s hardness pressing against the curve of his ass. Still he was delaying, fumbling with his pockets, looking for something to ease the way probably.

 

“Stop messing around and do it,” he growled, looking back over his shoulders.

 

“But I don’t want to hurt...”

 

“You can never just do what I want you to do!” He started to rise up, angry again and frustrated to have his game ruined, just to be pushed back. Hashirama leaned over him, putting his weight on his back to whisper in his ear.

 

“And what do you want, Madara? Me to fuck you raw? The Hokage to bend you over his desk and stuff his cock up your pretty arse?” He _never_ talked dirty and damn, it was ridiculous how he tried to do so now, the cruel words spilling so unnaturally from his lips, so there was no reason why the Uchiha's throat dried up suddenly and why only his pride kept him back from croaking out _hell_ , _yes._

 

His lover seemed to read him still. He ran his palm down his spine, the soft touch contradicting his harsh words. But still, he was way less gentle than usual and Madara could be caught up in pain and pleasure, both intensive enough to wash everything else from his mind, just as he craved it.

 

When Hashirama pushed into him after barely any preparation, stretching, tearing him, he couldn’t hold back small whimpers and moans of hurt.

 

“Harder,” he gasped still, when the taller man slowed down. He hissed when he was granted his wish, pained, but excited still. Hashirama was sliding more deeply into him now, entry eased with blood, quite probably. It was damn uncomfortable, with the edge of the table cutting into his abdomen, with the scattered pieces of papers sticking to his sweaty face and neck - he was the leader of this village, yet he failed to keep order on his desk, the thought came out of nowhere and disappeared with the wonderful, burning ache the next instant.  It was too hot, with him still mostly dressed; as his glance fell on his own hands trying to get a grip on the side of the table-top, he realized he even had his gloves on. Small comfort it was, that he wasn’t the only one – the linen of Hashirama’s trousers rubbed against his thighs as he moved and the edges of his Hokage-cloak tickled his arse as it kept flapping with their rocking. Each powerful thrust felt like stab of knife into his sacrum, but it was still perfect. It didn’t make sense, but Madara realized some time ago that nothing concerning Hashirama ever did. But that was fine, he had accepted that, or rather gave in and let the Senju rule their lives - he seemed better at knowing what to do than him anyway. Something else he’d never tell him.

 

So good - even the pain was so good, how its white waves washed everything from his mind, death, losses and failure... He pushed back to meet every hard shove of hips, glad to be able to focus on this alone. Hashirama was panting in his ear, just as excited as he was, obviously. Soft touches on his back as he pushed up his shirt, caresses on his hair, whispers he didn’t bother to understand... He knew he was being too loud with his own mewls and moans, and though he was never loud during sex, this time couldn’t keep silent.

 

“Yes... more,” he gasped when his lover run his fingers down his stomach and grabbed his prick, even if he didn’t know how he could have coped with _more,_ his senses already overloaded. Hashirama just grunted, tugged on his erection and changed the angle of his thrusts so he hit that special point inside that made the world explode in pure ecstasy. He must have shouted out, as a broad palm covered his mouth suddenly - he bit it while a deep voice tried to shush him. He was thrilling in this complete overload of senses, so wasn’t to be quieted down. He tried to drag that hand away, sank his nails as much as he could through his gloves into Hashirama’s arm when he couldn’t, and bit down again.

 

His lover just growled something probably rude, bucked into him with even more force and Madara was coming, suddenly weak-kneed with his release and blissfully free of any disturbing thoughts. He was dimly aware how Hashirama continued to move above him, before he shuddered, spilling his seed inside him.

 

He slumped on top of Madara, making it hard to draw in air and hell, but the desk was all sticky under him now, he was sweaty and uncomfortable, not that he wanted to move, ever. Still leaning over him, Hashirama was caressing his hair and kissing his temple, so he turned his head as much as he could to be reached better.

 

“That was... well that was... wow.”

 

“Elaborate as ever, Hokage-sama,” he smirked.

 

“Don’t be disrespectful,” he had the audacity to smack his arse, playfully, but it still made his whole lower back ache. Of course the damned Senju noticed the wince he couldn’t quite mask, so he straightened and pulled out of him carefully.

 

“You’re bleeding,” he sounded so mortified, downright scandalized by his own doing, that Madara had to laugh.

 

“I’m sure I’ll survive the grave injury you inflicted...”

 

“That’s not funny! Wait, I’ll...”

 

“Hashirama,” he sighed, turning around to face him, making sure not to wince this time. “It’s nothing.”

 

“No, it’s not! Let me heal you.”

 

“You know how annoying it is, when you’re worrying like that, I hope.”

 

“Just get back on the desk so I can see it better.”

 

Orgasm had a weakening effect on him, he had experienced it before and his partner never failed to take advantage of it. There was no other explanation why he found himself on the desk again, on his back this time, with his lover crouching between his spread thighs, examining the wound in the most humiliating position possible.

 

“I’ve told you it’s nothing,” he complained. Hashirama just made a disbelieving sound. A quick hand-sign and healing chakra was concentrated into his palm. It actually felt rather nice, when he pressed it gently against his abused hole, so Madara decided to let him do as he pleased for now. The warm, flowing energy of his power eased his awkwardness of lying there so open just as much as it eased the pain. How strange it was, feeling loved when Hashirama was just healing a wound he caused with his own clumsiness?

 

He almost felt he could fall asleep like this. If he wanted to be honest, he trusted the Senju, _his_ Senju more than he’d anyone else in the whole world. He knew he was safe with him. He raised his hand to touch his handsome face tenderly, and Hashirama glanced up, smiling at him ruefully. He was really worried he hurt him, even if it was something Madara asked for, even if both of them survived a thousand times more serious injuries...

 

He was so relaxed that the taller man’s fingers slipped easily inside when he moved them gently, channelling his healing technique still. Madara wasn’t prepared how good that would feel, tingling in the most pleasant way. He couldn’t hold back a small gasp, his eyes opening wide in surprise.

 

“Sorry, does that still hurt?” Hashirama immediately asked, concerned.

 

“No, it... it’s not... unpleasant.”

 

“Oh... Is that so?” Madara glared at him for that insolent tone, but he just made a fake innocent face, crooking his fingers in a way that was definitely not needed for healing. The Uchiha gave up on glaring, his head hitting the desk again, as this new, exciting pleasure run through his body. He never thought that a jutsu could be used like this...

 

He was rapidly getting aroused again, though just a few minutes ago he felt sated to his bones. This feeling was different, not aggressive, but playful, meant only for him, and he had to admit, he was lucky to have Hashirama as a lover... not that he had anyone else to compare him to, but he doubted there would be another man or women who would just... spare this amount of caring on him.

 

The pain was all gone by now, and he found himself arching his back in a bow, one of his heels pushed against the edge of the table as he raised himself up to get _more,_ his other leg somehow ending up on Hashirama’s shoulder, but he didn’t care about opening himself up  right then.

 

It was slowly building, he was reaching his peak and it was so good... Hashirama was massaging just that spot, holding him securely...

 

“You’re still here? I forgot to pick up... _What the hell?!”_

 

The position he was in - neck arched back, his weight on his shoulder blades - allowed him to look straight into Tobirama’s horrified eyes from upside down, who strode into the office _without so much as a knock._ He actually came a few steps in before it seemed to register in his brain what was actually going on. Then of course he came to a halt, staring at them in apparent shock.

 

He had to give it to Hashirama for keeping his calm. He pulled down Madara’s long shirt, to cover the most inappropriate parts before removing his hand from where it had been busy a moment ago. The Uchiha felt he might just die of embarrassment, so to mask it he quickly slid of the desk, to stand behind the chair - seemed like a better option than to try to find and drag up his trousers - and glared at the intruder, folding his arms in front of his chest. Of all people, to see him in such a position, it had to be Senju Tobirama.

 

“Brother, what was so urgent?” his lover’s tone was annoyed, but he didn’t sound disturbed, even though he was just doing up his own pants. Well, he wasn’t the one having fingers up his arse, moaning like a slut when the white haired bastard entered. “Why didn’t you knock?”

 

Madara was to witness something unique, a sight he would have enjoyed under any other condition - Tobirama not being able to utter a word at all for minutes. He was getting alarmingly red in the face though as his glance jumped from Hashirama to Madara, back again then to the safety of a wall. He cleared his throat a couple of times, but his voice was still hoarse as he spoke.

 

“What on earth... I wouldn’t have thought...” then louder, “this is your _office!_ I thought you were gone! _”_

 

“I didn’t know you were in the habit of visiting my office when you think I’m not here.”

 

“That’s not the point! You should have locked the door! No - you should have gone home for … _it!_ What if I was someone else? Have you no shame?”

 

“Brother...”

 

“Tell me you lock the door when you’re doing at home at least! What if the children saw you...?”

 

“You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it...”

 

“... are you crazy? I never thought I’d walk in to find you... to find him...” his glance jumped at Madara again and if that was possible he flushed even more. The Uchiha wondered if Hashirama would be extremely mad if he murdered his brother to make sure he’d never utter a word about this to anyone.

 

“Honestly, Tobirama, grow up,” Hashirama sighed. “Just get what you came for and...”

 

“Oh, it can wait till tomorrow,” the white haired Senju muttered. With one last glance at them he finally turned and went on his damned business. Madara slumped down into the chair, not even knowing what to feel.

 

“We can continue now, if you want to,” his lover offered and that was so absurd that he couldn’t keep down a small, surprised laugh.

 

“I probably never want to do it... ever again...”

 

“Is that so?” Hashirama didn’t sound properly concerned with this possibility. It was a pity there was nothing left on the desk he could have thrown at him.

 

“Yeah. I’d just see your brother’s face...”

 

“Hmm. Do you often think about my brother, when we’re making love?” he was obviously fighting back a grin, and Madara didn’t have the strength to be really angry with him. When he held out his hand, he let himself be dragged up and embraced.

 

“Oh, leave me alone,” he protested, but let himself be kissed in the end and indeed, he didn’t think of the albino bastard while it lasted at all. They stood like that for a while, close enough so he could press his forehead against the other’s wide shoulders and pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened.

 

“I’m going to the Inuzukas now,” Hashirama said quietly, later. Madara blinked up at him as if waking from a dream. The sex, that healing jutsu, Senju Tobirama walking in on them managed to clear his thoughts of the mission to a surprising measure. “Are you coming with me?”

 

“Why not?” Madara sighed. He felt he could face this grim task now.

 

“Great,” his lover smiled softly and kissed him again.

 

It’s strange, Madara mused as he walked the streets next to him, how Hashirama’s power could give him more strength as well. What was about him, he couldn’t tell. Some days he still felt jealous, as everything seemed to come so easily for the other man, might, love, the respect of others. More and more often though he just enjoyed how he was willing to share, how his own life was so much easier if he accepted what was offered so generously or simply unconsciously for him.

 

He still felt bad about the Inuzuka boy’s death. He wasn’t looking forward telling about it to his mother. But with Hashirama on his side he could face it.

 

“What are you thinking about?” his lover asked as he caught Madara looking at him.

 

“That healing techniques are more useful than I ever assumed,” he lied smoothly. Telling him his actual thoughts would just go to his head.

 

“Hmm,” he wasn’t sure if Hashirama believed him or not. Nor did it matter much. He suspected his lover knew he thought of him highly anyway. He stayed with him after all, and even found happiness despite all odds. Forget wood techniques, forget healing abilities, the most unique power of Hashirama was the way he made things right. How he made Madara a better person as well.

  


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**FIN**

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